


Scenario: Flight

by dksfwm



Series: Untitled Drabbles and One-Shots [7]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dksfwm/pseuds/dksfwm
Summary: A post-cancer arc drabble





	Scenario: Flight

It’s one of those rare occasions. Last-minute, fully booked flight. She offers to switch seats, knowing how cramped he will feel. He declines; the lesser of two evils, his window to her middle.

 

She was up at 4:00, through security by 5:00, head drooping before takeoff. Cup of coffee she downed before leaving her apartment fading fast.

 

He curls himself into his seat; she follows suit almost immediately, like a child imitating a parent. She feels that way with him sometimes. Only sometimes.

 

She doesn’t mean for it to happen, or maybe she does, but god, she would kill for two more hours of sleep. Four hour flight, two hours of sleep. And oh, his bicep is just soft enough. And she’s still regaining her strength.

 

Two hours turns to three. An extra thirty minutes for good measure. They’ve begun their decent, dark gray clouds surrounding, a patch of a storm. The turbulence jolts her, but she is grounded, fingers clutched. It’s not the armrest, she realizes, the warmth within her palm.

 

Her eyes flutter closed. Five more minutes.He brushes a stray lock, fresh crimson from a necessary post-remission dye, and lets his touch linger behind her ear. She is safe, nestled into him.

 

Smooth landing. With the the time difference, it’s not even 9:00. Denver is cold in the winter, but she’s used to being cold, resurgence of health still new. They’re both groggy, shlepping their carry-ons, walking a bit like zombies through the terminal. On autopilot, almost.

 

Shoulder to shoulder. Shoulder to just above the elbow, really. Black trench coat to gray suit. She skips just barely a half-step ahead, his hand presses to the middle of her back. She is still safe.

 

They made her check her duffle, so they wait patiently at baggage claim. A slight lean, the softest brush. Their pinkies lock; whatever promise they just made, she knows he’ll keep it. It’s only a moment, because her duffle appears. A less inviting merry-go-round, unlike those she remembers from summer fairgrounds. He grabs it off the belt for her. Since she is still regaining her strength.

 

As their feet shuffle toward the car rentals, passing other carousels, devoid of people, she spots a few lone suitcases. Abandoned, destined to be unclaimed. A quick glance next to her, still carrying her duffle; she can’t relate.

 

Impossibly, but gratefully, their journey continues.


End file.
